


head over feet

by ashinan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Boys being oblivious, Coda, Drunken Confessions, Episode 89, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: After the fight, the Mighty Nein go on a pub crawl. Fjord and Beau clear the air about some lingering misconceptions.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 21
Kudos: 321





	head over feet

**Author's Note:**

> listen I just wanted to write the schmoopiest and softest thing I could after the last episode and then Erin mentioned on Twitter about drunken confessions and I got HALF of that right, just not confessing to the right person. wanna thank Kann as well for always checking to make sure that I'm not being too OOC, which without, my words would be a mess. anyway, enjoy this softness!

They raid a few taverns after the fight until Jester complains loudly of their crawl and that they need to sit for a while before someone hurls. The Bottomless Tankard is open late and close to their inn; Jester and Yasha corral a few tables before everyone awkwardly jams themselves into the space, elbows knocking and thighs shoved together.

“Drinks,” Fjord says, brushing a hand over Caleb’s shoulder as he stands. Caleb smiles up at him, the drunken grin of someone who’s two sheets to the wind, and Fjord barely curbs the desire to rub a thumb against the corner of Caleb’s red mouth. He stumbles away from their table and toward the bar instead.

“Barkeep!” Fjord calls once he’s at the counter, pushing forward amongst the rowdy crowd to get the dwarf’s attention. “Three ales and two fire whiskey!”

“You’ll wait your damned turn,” they say, voice rough from yelling over the din.

Fjord leans his forearms against the counter, wincing when he slips in something wet, but it’s forgotten quite quickly. He’s developed a wonderful buzz, almost too drunk to remember but not so far as to go crazy. Riding that edge, Sabien used to call it. He’s sore from losing but high from the sheer energy of the fight. Plus, ‘valiant’ still bumps around in his head. Caleb’d obviously been lying, but the fact he attempted to buoy Fjord’s feelings leaves him warm. There’s a bump of a hip against his and he turns to either greet or shove off the stranger, when Beau pops up beside him and wiggles her way into a seat through sheer force of will.

“What’s taking so long?” Beau asks, thumping a hand against the counter. Her cheeks are red and eyes slightly manic, her voice strangled in a way Fjord has never heard. “You want shots? I want shots.”

Fjord rolls his tongue over his tusks, thinking. He could probably safely do two or three more drinks before he’s a goner, and nods enthusiastically at Beau. She grins back, all teeth, and pushes up to wave down the bar.

“Did that already,” Fjord says, catching her by the back of her belt and hauling her into her seat. “They’ll get to us when they do.”

“Boring.” Beau swivels on the stool. “Your face looks better.”

Fjord snorts. “Rude.”

“Dude, you got obliterated.” Beau cups her chin, grinning up at Fjord. “Like, you were Caleb levels of squishy.”

At the mention of their resident wizard, Fjord glances over his shoulder. Most of their group has settled, Jester poking at Caleb while talking loudly about how he _has_ to be an expert juggler. Caleb’s sans coat, the top buttons of his high collared tunic undone enough to showcase the silver of his necklace. He’s flushed and smiling, hair coming loose of the braid Yasha had put it in that morning, auburn falling in waves over his forehead and framing his face.

“Caleb isn’t squishy,” Fjord defends. Beau raises both brows and Fjord wets his lips. “Well, okay, he’s easy to hit but that doesn’t mean he’ll go down fast.”

Beau snorts, laughter dissolving into a lewd giggle as Fjord rewinds what he said, and stutters in mortification. A blush spreads ruddy over his cheeks and up his ears and he bats at Beau uselessly while she cackles. Gods, now he’s thinking about it. He pushes up and waves to the barkeep.

Finally, they’re served, three ales and two fire whiskeys. Beau demands her shots. Fjord balances an ale and the whiskeys back over to the table, sliding the fire whiskey in front of Caleb with a smile, and dropping the other in front of Yasha. The ale goes to Nott but she just scoffs and pours in some of her own flask, creating an ugly concoction. Caleb brushes two fingers over Fjord’s wrist in thanks before he’s distracted away by Jester.

Warmed by the touch, Fjord stumbles his way back to the bar, worming his way onto a stool beside Beau. Three shots line up before Beau, one of them already finished and the glass turned over. Beau nudges a shot over and Fjord takes it, slamming it back and coughing when the burn hits him.

“Your fight was ridiculous,” Fjord rasps when he settles. Beau barks a laugh. “Truly. I thank you for working out with me, but I’d rather not spar you, to be honest.”

“Yeah, I’d probably kick your ass, ‘Pop-pop’,” Beau says, grinning. Fjord flicks her tattoo before he takes a swig of his ale, pleased with the taste. They’ve been on this pub crawl for a good portion of the night and he’s feeling loose and a bit giddy, warm in all the best ways and content. The worry that’s been percolating in the back of his head tingles for a moment, but another glance over his shoulder at Caleb abates it. Yasha has joined in to the conversation, talking quietly with Caleb and smiling when Caleb slurs back a question. Jester leans forward and distracts them both.

Beau slams back a shot and gasps wetly as some dribbles over her lips. “Fjord, hey, Fjord. You ever been in love?”

Completely startled, Fjord chokes on his drink, ale sputtering over the counter. The barkeep tosses him a filthy look. Fjord winces in apology, wiping his mouth before miming mopping it up. The barkeep ignores him.

Searching for napkins, Fjord deflects, “What brought this on?”

Beau points aggressively at him, practically flicking him on the nose. “So, that’s a yes! Shit, isn’t it?” Beau paws at Fjord’s drink and he pushes it over to her. She slams back a good half of it. “Absolute bullshit. Who came up with it anyway?”

Pausing, Fjord squints until Beau solidifies. He’s much too drunk for this. “Beau, are _you_ in love?”

“Yes!” Beau wails, slapping her palms down on the counter. “I thought it was just a stupid crush but it’s _not_ and I hate it. How’d you deal with yours?”

Gaze darting over to where Caleb was balancing a pencil on his upper lip while Jester cackled, Fjord rubs absently at his chest. A gorgeous flush has spread over Caleb’s nose and cheeks, freckles standing out in stark relief. His mouth shines wet from alcohol, and with how his head arches back to balance the pencil, the slope of his throat simmers desire low in Fjord’s belly. Beau’s right. Love fucking sucks, especially when the person is in love with someone else. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Beau sighs. Fjord catches her watching him, face quietly devastated, and Fjord furrows his brows. Behind them, Jester demands three apples so Caleb can prove his juggling prowess. Caleb’s squawked protests do little to dissuade her. “Beau?”

“I always – well, not always. Just dreamt a little, I guess? That maybe it wasn’t true, that Nott had it wrong or some shit, but that’s it, isn’t it?” Beau slumps onto the counter, elbows akimbo and fingers in her hair. “What’s the cliché? Falling for the straight girl?”

“For the straight – Beau, I am far too drunk for this.” The pieces are all there but Fjord can’t quite grasp how they fit together. He slumps down on the counter as well, chin on his forearms. Beau draws circles in the spilt alcohol, over and over, stubbornly quiet. He just needs a moment. Straight girl plus ‘ever been in love?’ plus Beau? The answer smacks him in the face with all the subtlety of a two by four.

Before Fjord can begin to parse the magnitude of Beau’s confession, Beau says, “It’s Jester, isn’t it? That you’re in love with?”

“What?” Startled, Fjord pushes up, heels of his palms skidding against spilt ale. “ _What_?”

“She’s all goo-goo over you and you’re just as mushy for her and I’m a fucking idiot,” Beau muffles into her hands, before she shoves forward on her stool, nearly winding herself on the counter. “Barkeep! Four more shots!”

“Beau, wait –” Fjord begins but Beau shoves her fingers in his face while shushing him, dropping coins onto the counter as the barkeep approaches. Four shots line up, amber liquid sloshing and joining the mess Fjord has made. Fjord wrangles Beau’s fingers away from his nose and mouth.

“I’m not in love with Jester, Beau,” Fjord says, voice pitched high.

Beau whirls on him, liquid sloshing over her first shot glass. Her eyes are bloodshot and red rimmed, both from alcohol and a truly herculean effort to not cry. “Well, why the fuck not?” 

Melora, save him. This is a conversation best had sober, but only powered by alcohol. “I mean, I love Jester, she’s delightful but I’m not – _in_ love with her. I – she is not exactly my –” Fjord wiggles his hand back and forth, but Beau just stares blurrily at him, mulish frown never abating. The shot glass slowly tips to the side. “Goddess help me, she’s not my _type_ , Beau.”

“Bullshit!” Beau crows, arms thrown wide. Alcohol flies in an arch and slaps against the floor. “Bullshit of the highest order. She’s everyone’s type; she’s _Jester_!”

“Not mine,” Fjord hisses, grabbing Beau’s wrist before she can toss the shot glass too. She’s so loud. Thankfully, the rest of their party is just as rowdy, drowning out Beau’s increasing shouts.

“Oh-ho,” Beau says, her usual lewd smile mangled by drunkenness as she switches tracts. “No, right, you have a thing for redheads, right? Avantika. Shit, I still have her coat. Do you think it’d look cool over my Expositor stuff?”

Fjord sighs. “Beau, you’re wearing her coat already.”

Beau’s face lights up. “Holy shit, you dig _me_.”

“No!” Fjord shoves Beau’s face away, directing her back toward her three remaining shots. She squints down at the empty glass she’s holding before shrugging, turning it over and plopping it on the counter. “No, I am not into you, and no, I wasn’t into Avantika. I – do like redheads, but don’t mistaken what I did as ‘liking’.”

Beau pauses at that, her gaze shifting to drunken calculation. “Why not?”

Fjord sighs. Weirdly, he’s not had enough liquor for this. He grabs one of Beau’s shots and slams it back, rumbling as the alcohol burns deliciously all the way down. “Vandren was always a ladies man, flirting constantly and getting everything he wanted. When I took up his mantle, I took that up too. But whenever it was reciprocated, it was always attention I didn’t particularly want.”

Picking up a shot, Beau slams it back before fixing Fjord with her gaze. “Dude, you’re handsome as fuck. Ladies love you regardless of your Vandren bullshit.”

Fjord swirls his ale around in his cup. It’s been so long since he’s had to explain this, before Sabien and that tangled web. “Wrong kind of attention. Wrong sort of people.”

Beau squints. Her lips purse as she searches his face, gaze flitting back and forth as her head cocks slowly to the side. Fjord takes another drink, skin buzzing with revelation; he’s been playing Vandren for almost a year and regardless of how hard he emulated Vandren, ‘a ladies man’ Fjord was not. He’d never truly bought into that part of the character. Attraction remains nothing new, but reciprocation? That shit terrifies him. Was difficult enough pretending with Avantika, and those scars remain jagged and harsh over his heart.

“Oh,” Beau says suddenly, lips parted as she stares at Fjord. “Oh! Oh, wow, are you serious? Holy shit, how did I not know?”

Finally clicked in then. Fjord shrugs. “Most people assume otherwise. That whole ‘but you’re so handsome!’ apparently is synonymous with straightness.”

Silence, as Beau searches his face. Her eyes dart over to the table of their friends and then snap back to Fjord. “Wait. _Wait_.” Fjord tenses. She’s putting puzzle pieces together quick; damn that circlet and her ability to focus through half a bar’s worth of alcohol. Another glance, back and forth, gaze pausing on Caleb for longer than necessary. She leans forward, conspiratorial, and whisper shouts, “Are you in love with _Caleb_?”

Well, shit. Fjord hedges, “What makes you say that?”

Beau slaps her hands against the table. “Dude, you’ve been so protective of him lately, like I don’t have to worry about whether he’s been tended to because you’re right there. How did I not see it? How long? Does it have anything to do with that weird scar on both your palms? Fuck, did we make you sleep with Avantika? We need more alcohol.”

The rapid-fire questions dizzy Fjord and Beau shoves up to wave down the barkeep. His brain informs him another drink is a bad idea, but he’s so high on revelations and terror and _Beau knows_ that he actively ignores it. Slams back the shot Beau hands him and then reaches for another while he’s still reeling.

“Fjord,” Beau says, slurred but serious, and she tugs at his arm. “Fjord, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have assumed.”

Fjord blinks down at her. “Assumed? Nah, not like I dissuaded you all of the notion. Besides, it’s not - he’s in love with someone else.”

“Gods, right. We’re both fucked,” Beau mutters, sipping at her shot before downing the entire thing.

They lapse into drunken silence, Fjord’s thoughts spinning as much as his head. There’s no coming back from it now; with Beau in the know, and the sheer lack of subtly in their group, Caleb will likely find out.

“All right, man, I’m going to help you out,” Beau declares and Fjord snaps his gaze over to her. “Not like I’m going to get anywhere with my thing, but, hey, maybe yours has a chance. I’m the most badass wingman ever.”

“Beau –” Fjord begins, voice low and barely curbing a growl.

Beau bares her teeth right back. “What? S’not like you’re going to do it on your own. You need help.”

“And what about you and Jessie?” Fjord asks, raising a brow. Beau waves her hand. “Beau.”

“Watch and learn,” Beau says, staggering to her feet. She scoops up a random flagon of ale and marches her way toward the table.

“Son of a –” Fjord scrambles after her but she’s smaller than him and a monk to boot; the crowd offers her no real resistance whereas most of the rowdy drunks get in Fjord’s way without issue. By the time he’s freed himself from the crowd, Beau’s talking quietly with Jester and Yasha, grinning when they both nod and grab Nott.

As they pass by Fjord, Yasha offers a small smile, and an awkward thumbs up. Great. Perfect. Not even five minutes after and Beau’s already – _dammit_. 

Fjord hurries over to where Beau stands idly behind Caleb, brows furrowed as she surveys him. Caleb’s swirling the remainder of his whiskey around in his glass, pensive and lost, and she nods to herself right as Fjord reaches them.

“Whoops,” Beau says apropos of nothing. She stumbles behind Caleb’s chair and the ale she’s carrying sloshes over the fine material of Caleb’s coat, soaking in rapidly. Beau pivots gracelessly on her heel and dumps the entirety of the tankard down the back of Caleb’s chair.

Caleb jumps up with a short curse, chair shoving back into Beau. She’s not fast enough to dodge; the back catches her in the stomach and she wheezes at the force of it. The ale from Caleb’s ruined coat soaks into her Expositor gear and she whines, “Dammit, now _I’m_ going to need a bath when we get back.”

“Beauregard,” Caleb says, accent heavy over her name. Fjord catches her flailing hand and helps her back to her feet. Caleb frowns, lip pushed forward in an adorable pout. “That was my coat.”

“Shame, that,” Beau says, smiling bright and drunk. “Guess you’ll have to shiver your way back to the inn.”

All at once, Fjord cottons on to what she’s doing. That sneaky _shit_. Caleb sighs as he picks up his coat, teetering for a moment as he flaps it out. It sags in his hands, heavy with alcohol, and Caleb shakes it at Beau. “You are paying for it to be cleaned.”

He chucks the coat back over the chair and sits down in Fjord’s instead, nearly toppling backwards before Fjord grabs his shoulder. Caleb smiles up at him. Beau leans against the back of the chair, either ignoring or having forgotten it was soaked in ale, and says, “You’re gonna get cold.”

“And whose fault is that, Beauregard?” Caleb asks, squinting drunkenly at her.

Beau grins, gaze sharper than Fjord’s comfortable with. “You could always _borrow_ someone else’s for the walk back.”

Fjord is going to kill her. Just throw her off a godsdamned bridge or something. Caleb blinks. He’s swaying just slightly, back and forth, shoulder warm beneath Fjord’s palm. Which he hadn’t removed. Shit. Would it be weird to do so now? He’s so engrossed in whether or not to remove his hand that he almost misses what Beau says next.

She’s grinning, gaze flicking momentarily to Fjord’s before she continues, “I mean, Fjord isn’t going to use his cloak, right? It’s just been sitting on the back of the chair here, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Fjord mouths ‘ _asshole_ ’ at her but she ignores him, still beaming at Caleb. Caleb, who turns his drunk gaze on Fjord, his frown melting away to be replaced by another one of those soft smiles. A lump lodges in Fjord’s throat as Caleb reaches up and pats Fjord’s hand on his shoulder.

“I would not want you to be cold, Fjord.” Caleb leaves his hand there, fingers warm against Fjord’s.

“Uh,” Fjord starts. Beau gestures with her head and Fjord’s throat clicks. “I – uh, I run hot, so you’re welcome to it. Whenever – whenever you need it.” 

Beau hides her snicker in the fabric of Caleb’s coat. Caleb holds Fjord’s gaze, intensity softened by alcohol and their proximity, before a hiccup leaves him. He claps his hand over his mouth, sheepishly looking away, and Fjord can’t help but squeeze his shoulder again. “Truly, Caleb, I don’t mind.” 

Caleb nods, another shy smile directed Fjord’s way. Beau slaps her hands down on the chair and says, “All right, well we should get everyone together and head back then. Got an early transportation spell tomorrow.”

“Drink water!” Fjord calls after her as she stalks toward the counter where Yasha and Jester are talking low with Nott. When he glances back at Caleb, Caleb’s plucking at his cloak, unsuccessfully attempting to drag it off the back of the chair and onto his shoulders. Fjord chuckles. “Here, here, stand up.”

Clutching at Fjord’s hand, Caleb staggers to his feet and sways a moment, a soft laugh coming from him. He teeters wildly and Fjord’s hand snaps out to catch him around the waist, fingers spread wide over his lower back. Instinct. So much harder to control when he’s liquored up and within proximity of Caleb. He doesn’t release him right away and Caleb places his other hand on Fjord’s bicep. He’s so much smaller than Fjord, knobbly elbows and tapered waist, and Fjord wants to bundle him up immediately. Blinks when he realizes he can.

“Let me just –” Still not releasing Caleb, Fjord yanks the cloak up. The motion invariably tugs Caleb closer and both hands press against Fjord’s chest. They’re so close. A faint rumble begins in Fjord’s chest and he desperately attempts to quash it. Caleb’s brows furrow as he glances down.

“What is that?” Caleb asks. Before Fjord can stop him, Caleb leans in and presses his ear to Fjord’s chest, eyes closing. Melora save him, Fjord can’t breathe. Can’t stop the embarrassing rumble that grows louder as Caleb rubs his cheek against Fjord’s chest, either, as though following the sound.

He can’t do this.

“All right, let’s get you ready for travel,” Fjord says, voice choked and high. Caleb hums and pulls back, meeting Fjord’s gaze with a pleased smile. They’re still far too close. Fjord clears his throat and focuses on the cloak in his hand, releasing Caleb so he can finally get it around him.

Oh, he did not think this through.

The fabric settles heavy over Caleb’s shoulders, bunched around his chest and bundling against his throat in swaths of red and burgundy fabric. Caleb fidgets until he can get his braid free, though the attempt nearly suffocates him in the process. The cloak falls to the floor behind him and Fjord tugs on it to pull it up and away. Caleb lets out a rasping laugh as his nose and mouth are covered momentarily before he yanks the cowl down.

“You are very large.” Caleb grins up at him.

Fjord swallows. “No, you’re just a wispy thing. Come here, let me fix this.”

Careful of his claws, Fjord rearranges the cloak around Caleb until he’s no longer swimming in it – well, as much. He adjusts the Wildmother’s symbol, tucking it under a fold; Caleb was already a target in this city, didn’t need to make him more so. Gentle, he pulls Caleb’s hair free, swallowing as the soft strands filter through his fingers. He lingers for a single moment with his finger tips pressed ever so lightly against the base of Caleb’s skull before he shakes himself out of it. When he steps back, Caleb’s flushed and holding the edges of the cloak around himself. Electric blue snaps up to Fjord’s face. There’s a single moment where Fjord’s certain Caleb’s gaze lingers on his mouth before he meets Fjord’s eyes, but that’s likely the alcohol and the pining talking.

“Fjord –” Caleb begins, low, but Nott and Jester bounce back over to them with loud, boisterous calls for them all to leave. Yasha reappears with pitcher of water and cups, handing them around and quietly telling them all to take small sips until everything’s downed. Caleb remains in Fjord’s cloak. Standing with his fingers curled around the cup, he’s nothing but a small ember packed into the bulk of fabric. He sways closer to Fjord, shoulder resting against Fjord’s arm, and contentment floods through his chest.

They gather their things, shoving Caleb’s sodden coat into the Haversack. Beau runs ahead of Jester as they make their way out of the tavern, Yasha taking up the rear, and Fjord breathes in the cool night air. Beau’s teetering wildly, nearly beaning herself on a lamppost, and Fjord sighs. Calls out to Jester, “Jess, think you could wrangle Beau in before she gets hurt?”

“Of course!” Jester says back, skipping over to Beau and wrapping her arms around Beau from behind. Beau’s wide eyes catch Fjord’s and he mouths ‘ _payback_ ’. Beau glares, but gently takes Jester’s arm when she demands it.

“Do you wish to know a secret?” Caleb asks, whispering in that way only drunk people can. His hand catches Fjord’s wrist, long fingers curling gently. Fjord buzzes with alcohol and proximity and swallows down an instinctual need to tuck his face into Caleb’s throat. “It is rather funny.”

Common sense finally pushes through the haze. “When we’re more sober. Soberer? Less this.” Caleb’s face falls for a moment and panic takes up the calm. Fjord continues, “I want to know. You have no idea how much I want to know. But I don’t wish for you to regret telling me, or for me to forget because of the drink.”

Caleb nods slowly. His hand remains on Fjord’s wrist, fingers loose but holding. “I would not regret telling you this. You are my friend.”

Another pang, low in Fjord’s gut. Friend is more than he’d thought he’d get, truthfully. Quiet, secretive in his own way, Fjord leans in. “And you’re pretty amazing.”

A blush blooms fast over Caleb’s face, and he bites at his bottom lip as he releases Fjord’s wrist. The cloak nearly swallows him up as his shoulders hike up, an uncertain twitch in his clenched jaw as he glances away. Fjord stalls, unsure if his interest was clear in the compliment or if it was just the observation itself. The truth of the matter is simple: Caleb _is_ amazing, at least to Fjord. Has been since day one, really.

“It’s the truth,” Fjord says stubbornly, reaching out but stalling at the last second. Caleb continues to keep his head down, watching the cobblestones as they walk, before he shakes his head. Glances at Fjord out of the corner of his eye. “What time should we leave tomorrow?”

The shift is blatant and Fjord allows it. Wouldn’t be the first time and certainly won’t be the last. Fjord resolves to tell Caleb more, to stress and contradict what the others sometimes offhandedly say. Caleb’s strong, fiercely loyal, and held together by stubbornness and a steel that Fjord can barely imagine. Doesn’t stop him from nudging a bit into Caleb’s space and tugging on his cloak. Caleb’s pleased smile reinforces the decision.

They continue to walk in silence. Ahead, Jester loudly attempts to convince Beau to just let Jester give her a piggy back, and Nott is cackling in acquiesce. By the time they catch up, Jester has wrangled Beau onto her back and Nott onto _Beau’s_ back. Makes sense now why working out with Jester was such a failure. Goddess, would he even be able to carry Caleb?

His memory gleefully reminds him that he’s already done so, and with a magic nullifying golem chasing them to boot. His cloak catches on his fingers and he’s stepped into Caleb’s space again, dammit.

They stumble their way into the inn and up the stairs, Jester carrying Nott and Beau into their shared room. Yasha allows herself into the girl’s room as well.

“ _Danke_ for allowing me your cloak,” Caleb says, leaning back against his door. His fingers brush over the Wildmother broach and Fjord’s throat clicks when he swallows. A small smile curves Caleb’s lips. “It is very warm.”

Fjord nods, neck loose and head heavy with drink and their mixed scent. His fingers itch to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Caleb’s ear. “Of course; couldn’t let you walk back in a ruined coat. Seemed fair.”

They pause for a moment, the silence between them comforting but strangely tense. Caleb fiddles with the clasp of the cloak, not quite taking it off, but making motions. Fjord steps forward, reaching, and catches Caleb’s hands. “You can give it back to me tomorrow, okay? Make sure you drink some more water before bed.”

Caleb glances up under his lashes, hand warm in Fjord’s. There’s something there, a calculation behind the drunken bliss writ across Caleb’s face, and Fjord gently rubs a thumb against Caleb’s knuckles before attempting to pull away. With a start, Caleb follows the movement, steps forward twice before rocking up on his toes.

Lightly, Caleb brushes his lips over Fjord’s cheek, his other hand resting on Fjord’s bicep for balance. Warmth floods through Fjord as his mouth goes dry. Caleb pauses for a moment, nose brushing Fjord’s skin.

“ _Guten nacht_ ,” Caleb whispers. Another brush of lips, now to the corner of Fjord’s mouth, and he’s reeling, he’s lost, want bubbling up in his chest until he’s choking on it. Caleb nudges his nose against Fjord’s jaw before he pulls back, pulls away, and disappears into his room with a whirl of Fjord’s cloak.

Fjord stands outside Caleb’s door for a long while.

**Author's Note:**

> the most scandalous cheek kiss ever augh these BOYS. come follow me on [my fandom twitter](https://twitter.com/ashinanfandom?s=09) (where I am crying all the time about critrole and widofjord lbr)


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